Word, Sarament, and Manna

The Third Sunday of Easter / Year A
Luke 24:13-35

This morning’s reading from the Gospel of Luke tells the story of Jesus walking with two followers and discussing how the events of the past week have been a fulfilment of Holy Scripture.  I remember my youth minister calling this the single greatest bible study in history.  “Were not our hearts burning within us as he was talking about the Scripture?”  While Jesus’ words lit a fire, it was the act of breaking bread that revealed to them who he was.  This would become a common experience in the early church.  As disciples broke bread and remembered Jesus (as he had told them to do) they discerned his presence with them.

Word and Sacrament, both present in this story, are the two foundational experiences of our communal worship.  Through the Liturgy of the Word we hear the ancient story centered around the actions and teachings of Jesus.  They speak to our hearts and our souls and become a burning fire lighting our way toward holy and faithful living.  Through the celebration of the Great Thanksgiving we receive the real presence of the Living Christ into our very bodies.  It becomes for us a source of strength, of courage, of healing, of forgiveness, of hope, and mysteriously, but surely, helps us to sense Jesus is with us as we gather.

But now is the seventh Sunday we have not gathered and the seventh Sunday we have not celebrated the Eucharist… and there does yet not appear to be a Sunday on the horizon when we will gather again and receive communion.

Clergy are talking about this, among ourselves and with our bishops.  Almost every Episcopal Church is now live-streaming a Sunday worship service in some form or fashion.  Many do as we are doing… a service of Morning Prayer.  Some stream a celebration of the Great Thanksgiving.  Those few present receive communion (observing safe practices and social distancing) while those at home receive a spiritual benefit by watching.  For me, this is something like having a Thanksgiving Day meal live-streamed from the church where a handful of people have gathered to enjoy a turkey dinner with all the trimmings as those of you at home watch while chocking down a bologna sandwich. 

Serving as the Rector of St. Paul’s I have opted not do this because I believe the open gathering of the community is an essential and necessary element of the Eucharist.  The rubrics of the prayer book state a priest cannot celebrate communion alone.  It is never to be private and personal.  The presence of one other person is required, even if it is just an acolyte.  This says to me a basic requirement of the Eucharist is that it has to be open and accessible and at this time it can be neither.   

There is another push among some clergy.  Why can’t smaller congregations who can maintain social distance within the confines of their sanctuaries conduct public worship, celebrate the Eucharist, and administer communion in a responsible way?  I pray for Bishop Susan who (in lightening speed) went from being a rector of a congregation who loves her (as you love and care for me) to being the Ecclesiastical Authority of people and congregations she has yet to meet, but must still lead.  I can’t even begin to imagine.

I told our bishop I value the opportunity for each congregation to discern what is possible locally.  In other dioceses, including the northern Diocese of Virginia, bishops have told clergy they are not permitted to go into the office nor are they allowed to live-stream or record services from within the worship space.  To my way of thinking this may be very sensible in some contexts and entirely unnecessary in others (such as ours).  I appreciate our bishop’s wisdom to value the individual congregation’s ability to discern what is possible.

But… going in to the church office every day and using your personal smart phone to live-stream a prayer service is something entirely different from celebrating the Great Thanksgiving.  Maybe some congregations can do this free of fear, but I wonder.  If, prior to the liturgy, a priest has to take 10 minutes to explain the process required to consecrate and administer the elements safely, how can the focus any longer be on what God in Christ has done for us, but rather the health risk we face by being here?  If the Eucharistic liturgy raises anxiety in the congregation, should it be celebrated?  And if we offer public worship, is it wise to invite those who are best served by staying at home but undoubtedly will be here?  And is it spiritually harmful to those not ready to gather publicly to say we are here, why aren’t you? 

These are the questions I ponder and why I hold Bishop Susan in my prayers as she has weighty decisions to ponder.

In the midst of all these matters I am trying to get my head around something I never contemplated or saw coming.  Every morning and every evening some 25-30 households are logging on to a live-stream of Morning or Evening Prayer officiated by either Al or me.  Every day, without fail, I am hearing from someone – either via e-mail, text, message, phone call, or even an old school letter in the mail – how these services are helping you in these tough times. 

Albert Jennings, a priest I first knew when I was in the Diocese of Ohio, in a very insightful live-streamed service, equated our newly discovered virtual worship with the manna God provided for the children of Israel as they wandered in the wilderness.  He noted after leaving Egypt and crossing through the Red Sea the people of God where starving in the wilderness.  God provided for them daily manna (a Hebrew word literally meaning “what is it?”)  Well, what it was was enough to feed them during forty years in the wilderness.  And, as Albert points out, once God’s children enter the Promised Land and can grow crops on their own, the manna disappears.  The messages, he says, is God gives us what we need, when we need it, to sustain us.

And this ancient lesson is our current experience.  God is giving us what we need during these wilderness days.  And one way this is happening is through our virtual worship.  While I miss the weekly celebration of the Holy Eucharist I recognize and celebrate what God is giving us in this wilderness time of COVID 19.  And, unlike those two followers at table with Jesus yet to recognize him because the bread is not yet broken, I sense the Risen Lord is with us in ways I have never sensed it before.  And, what I am hearing from you tells me you discern his presence too.

I so look forward to the day when we can all gather with confidence to celebrate our faith and our fellowship.  But, do you know what?  I look forward to being with you this evening virtually.  I look forward to Tuesday, when God will use Al’s spirituality and gifts to feed and sustain us.  I look forward to Mobil Wednesday Morning when I attempt to do Morning Prayer from some location in, St. Paul’s, outside of St. Paul’s, or who knows where!  I look forward to Healing Fridays.  I look forward to this new way, through God’s manna gift, to being feed.  God is giving us everything we need and that is enough even as we look forward to the Promised Land of being together again.

From Fear to Faith

The Second Sunday of Easter / Year A
John 20:19-31

Today is the Second Sunday of the Easter season, but it is also our sixth Sunday of virtual worship.  Today is the first time only Al and I are present.  I have really appreciated the gifts and talents offered by our readers, vocalists, and cross flowerers and I know they have enjoyed being here.  Each person adds so much to our virtual worship experience.  While up to ten people can gather to assist with the service, my feeling is this is way too large a group for the size of our chapel.  So, moving forward, Al and I will be conducting the services.  Al is working with software to allow us to incorporate pre-recorded videos into our live feed.  Hopefully, in the near future, we will be able to have pre-recorded readers, musicians, acolytes, ushers...  the possibilities are enormous. 

This is a brave and bold new world.  The Church has come a long way since the initial Sunday of the Resurrection.  Back then it huddled together in a single room.  Oil lamps and some kind of door lock were the only technology at their disposal.  Fast forward to the Church in 2020 and it is amazing what God’s people are able to do.  At the beginning of Lent probably less than 1% of congregations in America were live-streaming services.  Today, almost every church, regardless of size, is streaming some kind of service on Sunday morning.  Our weekday morning and evening services, as well as this Sunday gathering, have connected us to one another and welcomed back to our congregation people who have relocated to other parts of the country.  Many of you have invited friends to join us and some of them are now regular virtual congregants.  Who saw this coming, either a few weeks ago or during that first evening when the disciples crammed together in an anti-social distance room?

One thing connects our experience of worshipping in our homes with theirs.  We share with them a sense of Jesus’ presence.  And, like our ancestors in the faith, we are finding as Jesus is present in our homes our homes are becoming havens of peace.  “Peace be with you.”  These are the Resurrected Jesus’ first words to his gathered followers.  It is so much a part of the purpose of his presence he says it a second time, “Peace be with you.” 

Think about the situation those first disciples faced on that Sunday evening.  The world outside their doors was a dangerous place.  It was not safe for them to leave the shelter and security of that locked room.  Still, their life inside had been turned upside down.  Their leader was crucified and buried.  They were not free to come and go.  No one had any idea what to do or how to carry on.  The “blueprint” for their lives and their future was no longer valid. 

Certainly the atmosphere was chaotic, charged, panicky, and despairing.  This is the setting into which Jesus appears.  No wonder he says what he says and does what he does.  What could be more necessary, more valuable, or more precious than a deep sense of abiding peace!  It is terribly important to recognize nothing about the circumstances the disciples face has changed.  The outside world is still dangerous, they still don’t know what to do, and they still have no idea what the future looks like.  But now they begin to sense Jesus is with them and grants to them the blessing of peace; a peace passing all understanding.

This is what we have experienced every morning and every evening as we gather together for prayer in our individual homes.  We have sensed Jesus’ presence and in these moments we have felt the blessing of his peace.   

Yesterday, as it transformed from a miserably rainy and dreary day into blue skies and cool sunshine, Harper and I walked around Suffolk and were blessed to encounter some of you.  My favorite conversation was with 8-year-old Caroline Webb, who helped to flower the cross last Sunday. 

Me:        Caroline, thanks for helping to flower the cross last week.

Her:       No problem.

Me:        Did you go home and watch the video of yourself?

Her:       No.

Well, it is reassuring to know America’s children sense their 15 minutes of fame is yet to come and most certainly will not be limited to just ¼ of an hour!

As I talked with folks I had the sense we all are transitioning from an initial sense of fear, loss, anger, and confusion to an adaptive place where we are becoming grateful for our capacity to let go, to adjust, and to accept.  We are moving from fear to faith… faith in God and faith in ourselves.  And this, I think, is why so many our connecting with our virtual worship.  It is a pathway helping us to walk from fear to faith.

On this first Sunday after Easter we always read of “Doubting” Thomas.  He, famously, is not present the first time Jesus appears to all of his followers and he, famously, refuses to ‘believe’ unless he sees and touches the wounds.  From a theological and spiritual perspective, doubt is not the opposite of faith.  Many great and faithful Christians have had their ‘doubts’ about one or more of the doctrines of the Church.  You do not have to consent to every tenant of the faith in order to be faithful and you may have your doubts about one or a few.  Thomas should not be chastised for needing ‘proof’ or ‘evidence’ of what is difficult to accept, and neither should you.  Doubt and faith are so closely related it might be best to think of them as twins.

The opposite of faith is fear.  Faith says, “I and all I love are in God’s hands.”  The fearful opposite of faith is, “I am not in control and there is not telling what might happen to me and to those I love.” 

As much as this Sunday always seems to be about Thomas, maybe today we should make it about Peter.  Two weeks ago, as we read the Passion, he could not admit to a lowly servant child that he knew Jesus.  Peter, on that day, was the poster child of fear.  Fast foreword to today’s readings.  We hear Peter’s first ever sermon addressed to the people of Jerusalem:

Jesus, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law.  But God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.

This is anything but a fearful proclamation.  In the face of trying times Peter is changing.  He is moving from fear to faith and faithfulness.   Years later, writing to those who look to him for guidance, support, and comfort, he says…

God has given us a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading…  In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials…

These are the word of a person who has moved from fear (as we saw on display in the courtyard on the night of Jesus’ arrest) to faith.  It is a movement of God’s Spirit in an individual’s heart and soul.  And it is a movement I sense in so many of you.  God’s Spirit is guiding us from fear to faith, not because the situation and the circumstances of our lives have changed for the better, but because we have reconnected with an ancient truth: Our God is with us to deliver us and our spirits are being revived by God’s Spirit.

When Easter Feels Like Lent

Easter Day
Matthew 28:1-10

Surely you have heard the joke about the frustrated Sunday School teacher whose young students can’t tell the story of Easter.  One confuses it with Christmas, another with Palm Sunday, and still another with Thanksgiving.  Finally, one child gets it right, declaring, “Jesus has been in a dark cave for a long time and on Easter morning he comes out and the sun is shining down on him.  Then he sees his shadow and goes back into the cave because there will be six more weeks of winter.”

Sadly, Easter morning 2020 feels an awful lot like that joke.  Yes, the Cross is flowered, we recognize the tune of Jesus Christ is risen today, and we get to say Alleluia again, but it feels like Lent is here to stay for at least six more weeks, if not longer.  If we offer a Blue Christmas service to help people express their feelings of sadness and loss at Christmas time, maybe this year we need to think about a liturgy for a Blue Easter service. 

I feel the loss of so many of our Holy Week traditions at St. Paul’s.  And try as we might to do our best under these circumstances, I suspect many of us will spend today lamenting what cannot be… droves of children scrambling around the church yard looking for eggs, a crowded and beautifully decorated church, everyone dressed in their Easter best, gathering with family and friends for an Easter feast…

And then there will be tomorrow.  No matter on what date it falls, Easter Sunday always feels like the beginning of Spring.  Winter is over and done.  The world is open again and we are set free.  But the tomorrow we face will be just like yesterday.  We will shelter in place, maintain social distancing, isolate as much as possible, and try to make the best of virtual connections, but life is still going to be hard and sad and just a little bit frightening. 

How can we celebrate Easter when life still feels like Lent?

A couple of things occur to me.  First, our current situation shares a lot in common with the first Easter.  The disciplines are sheltering in place.  The doors are locked because they sense a real and deep threat to their safety.  Fear dominates the mood, as does grief.  The disciples have lost their leader in the cruelest way imaginable.  Even the hopeful report of the woman who say they have encountered the Risen Lord does little to change the atmosphere.  It only seems to add to the confusion.  They have no sense what tomorrow will look like.  They have no clue what to do.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus appears to the disciples in the room where they are gathered on Easter evening.  He meets them again in the same locked room one week later.  Very little seems to have changed over the course of this time.  The disciples are still afraid and they are still confused.  Mathew’s Gospel emphasizes Jesus telling his followers to return to Galilee.  This is their home.  This is where they can get back to work.  This is where their lives will become “normal” again. 

We find ourselves in a “locked room” moment.  Jesus is risen.  Death is vanquished.  But there is still much to fear and much to figure out.  We long to be able to go to “Galilee” – to that place and time where our familiar lives return to us – but we are not there yet.  No, this isn’t how we usually celebrate the Easter story, but it is (in fact) a part of the Easter story.  Jesus is risen, but what it means and how it changes life takes time to discern.  In many ways our day tomorrow will share much with the first Monday after the Resurrection.  It will take a while for us to get back to Galilee.

While praying the daily office with you this week, I got to thinking about the people on our prayer list; all those who are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity.  We all know folks whose problems are not going away because today is Easter and we get to say Alleluia again.  There are people with life-threatening health issues, family or relational challenges, employment problems, and on and on.  For these folks, the Monday of Easter week is another day to engage the difficult.  I wonder how these people – the people whose problems don’t go away – celebrate Easter?  And I wonder what can we learn from them?  Sure, I suppose some approach this day with a ‘woe is me’ attitude, but the courageous and the hopeful, the ones with a fighting spirit and sustaining faith, enter deeply into the joy of this day and are grateful for the respite it brings.  May their example be guide for us.

And one final thought has stayed with me throughout the week.  It is a sentence of liturgy found in the preface for the Eucharist at the Burial Office:

For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended…

It describes our transition from this world to the life to come, but also speaks to every resurrection moment we experience in life.  We come to this Easter deeply aware that life has changed, but the resurrection message is life is not ended.  God is always at work to bring new life out of old.  Sometimes this happens in an instant, but most often it is a process of rebirth and renewal.  And often times we are not even aware how new life is emerging from old until well after the crisis is past and the healing is done.  And so this is also a part of our celebration today, knowing God is at work in us – comforting, sustaining, and renewing.

The interesting thing about Galilee is once the disciples get back home little about it has changed.  But the disciples have.  Walking with Jesus, witnessing his life, listening to his words, seeing him die, encountering him risen has changed them in incredible ways.  Yes, they go back to home and return to what is normal, but they don’t stay there long.  They have changed and empowered by God’s Spirit they set out to change the world.  I hope and pray one day we will look back on Easter 2020 and be able to say the same thing about us.

A Theology of Pandemic

The Passion of Our Lord

COVID-19 has done more than create a health scare.  It has also spawned a theological scare.  We shouldn’t be surprised.  When something bad happens we always want to know why.  What did I do (or what did we do) (or what did you do) to deserve this?  And bad theology is like a virus in that it spreads quickly and is difficult to contain.  Answers to what the pandemic means theologically appear to go in one of three directions. 

The first two possibilities hold God did this for a specific reason.  Some suggest it is a punishment, others say it is a corrective, and still others believe it is God’s way of trying to get our attention.  Whatever the purpose, this first possibility asserts God knows what God is doing and as such each and every person gets what God intends.  Those who get sick and die get what God intends for them.  Those who get sick and recover get what God intends for them.  Those who don’t get sick, but lose their job get what God intends for them.  Often this theological approach is favored by those who are spared because it answers for them the fundamental question of why you and not me.

The second alternative holds God is the author of the pandemic, but does not control its impact on specific people.  The disease is arbitrary, affecting good and bad people indiscriminately.  Yes, God has a reason for creating the pandemic, but no, God does not select who to afflict and who to spare. There is neither a rhyme nor a reason to what happens to whom as far as God is concerned.  Whatever happens happens. 

I reject both of these alternatives.  They just make God seem to be vindictive and petty.  Sure, the earliest biblical stories present the Holy One in an unflattering light (such as when God floods the entire earth after reaching a point of utter exasperation with human wickedness) but, as God’s people interact with God over time and reflect on events and their meaning, God’s people begin to reject this kind of thinking.  The destruction of Jerusalem and subsequent Exile in Babylon teaches God’s people they have suffered far beyond anything they reasonably deserve.  As a result they reject the notion God uses evil for a purpose.  The story of Job is the ultimate critique of the old school thinking.  The measure of ill that befalls Job cannot be traced to anything he did or anything God desires.  It just happens.

Those of us in the Christian tradition hold Jesus is the full and complete revelation of God’s very Nature and Being.  If you want to know what God is like then look no farther than Jesus.  Here is what Jesus says about God:

God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved (John 3:17)

If God does not visit damnation on us, but rather desires our salvation, this opens the door to a third theological answer to the pandemic.  It is not of God.  It just is.  Now, we may not like the thought our world and our existence is so random, but – in truth – it is.

Not that we are without our influences.  There are many things we do right and reap the rewards.  These are the things we merit and earn.  And then there are good things we receive which we did not work for.  We call this luck, good fortune, and grace.  There are times we do the wrong thing and pay the consequences.  Bad decisions and poor choices have a way of coming home to roost.  And there are times we do the wrong thing and avoid any fallout.  All of this is to say we have a tremendous ability to influence the direction of our lives and what we experience for good or for ill as a result.  Still, stuff happens.  Good stuff we don’t deserve and bad stuff we do not desire.

From a theological perspective, I think the pandemic falls under the category of paying the consequences for bad decisions.  The threat of this kind of a pandemic has been known for some time.  In fact, back in the day, the experts told us it is only a matter of time.  We could have been better prepared, but we weren’t.  Leadership did not make it a priority, and if they had, we in the public would have voted them out of office.  Well, the world has changed!

So, if God is neither the source nor the one directing how it unfolds, what role does God play in all of this?  I a few moments we will pray today’s Collect.  We will acknowledge God, in God’s tender love for the human race, sent the Son into the world to take on our nature and to suffer death upon the cross that we might have an example of great humility to emulate.  We call this example “walking in the way of the Cross.”  Where is God in the midst of this pandemic?  How is God with us?  As God always is… in the midst of us as we follow the example of Jesus’ great humility. 

Now, this is nice, liturgical, theological language, but what does it look like lived out in my life or in yours?

If you follow our daily services you know on Wednesday morning I mentioned my car wouldn’t start and I half-jokingly asked for your prayers.  Right after the service Cindy asked me what I was going to do about my car.  I told her I was going to sit and do nothing for a while to see if my problem would just evaporate.  How did she respond?  Let’s just say Cindy and I have different management styles!  Then a little while later Toni Reynolds reached out to me and asked if I would like Jim’s help.  Ya-hoo!  It took some doing, but Jim got my car to start and off I went to the dealership to get it serviced. 

Unfortunately they could not work on my car until the next day, so I made an appointment and then drove around for a while hoping to charge my battery.  That night, at Evening Prayer, I told you all the story and then jokingly said, “I asked God for help and God sent Jim Reynolds.  When was the last time Jim Reynolds was the answer to someone’s prayer?”

Well, Thursday morning my car would not start.  This time I turned to Al Reese and his car, but try as we might we could not get the engine to turn over.  So, who do I call?  Jim Reynolds.  Not only did he get my car started, he also brought me some of Toni’s delicious baked spaghetti to enjoy at dinner!  We got to talking about my statement “When was the last time Jim was the answer to someone’s prayer.”  Jim said, “I got to thinking and I wonder if maybe I should not be praying to God for me and what I need, but rather should be praying, ‘Here I am God.  How can you use me today?’” 

That is such a great perspective.  It is, in a nutshell, what it means to walk in the way of the Cross, to seek to live with great humility.  “Lord, how can I be the answer to another person’s prayer?”  It is not about what you need, but about what you have to offer.  I didn’t need God to start my car.  I needed Jim.  God didn’t need to do a miracle.  God needed Jim to come and help me… twice!  And God’s world, especially right now, needs an awful lot: everything from spiritual comfort to automobile maintenance.  And God’s Spirit is at work to mobilize every one of us so that the needs of the world can be met.

The message of the Passion of our Lord is this: when the world was at its worst Jesus was at his best.  Pilate, Herod, Judas, Caiaphas, Peter, the mob… what a shameful moment.  If God’s Nature contains even an iota of vindictiveness this is the time we would see it.  But we don’t, because it is not in God’s Nature.  What we see is God’s self-offering.  Jesus gives himself to us even when we are at our worst. 

So, ultimately, what is my theology of pandemic?  These times are some of the worst we have lived through and God is present with us to help us to be at our best.  God waits for each of us to ask, “How can you use me today?”  With our consent, God is able to muster a movement of compassion even greater than the challenges we face. 

 

The Grieving Conversation

John 11:1-45
Lent 5 / Year A

Today is the fifth and final Sunday in Lent.  Next Sunday begins Holy Week with the Blessing of the Palms and reading of our Lord’s Passion.  And this is our final “Big Conversation.”  Let’s call this one “The Grieving Conversation.”  Of course, it is more than this, but it certainly is this as Jesus speaks with his friends Mary and Martha after the passing of their brother Lazarus.

Many of us have been in the place where Mary and Martha are in this reading.  We know first-hand what it is to lose someone close to you.  And we know what is comforting and helpful and kind and loving at such a time and, sadly, we also know what is not.  I suspect most of us have had a well-meaning friend say or do the wrong thing at the worst possible time.  You know the comments:

·         You need to put this behind you.

·         It was not meant to be (or the alternative… it was meant to be).

·         He brought this on himself.

·         Everything happens for a reason.

·         You must be strong.

·         Why are you still crying?

·         She wouldn’t want you to be so sad.

·         You are still young; you can always remarry.

·         You never really got to know the baby.

·         God wanted him more than you.

·         Heaven needed another angel.

·         God will never give you more than you can handle.

·         I know just how you feel.

And, in spite of what you might think, we clergy can be some of the worst offenders.  A woman named Candace shares her experience:

I was devastated when I lost my husband to brain cancer just 12 weeks after diagnosis.  I was not able to get back to church after his death and I wondered why the pastor didn’t call and then, after 3 months, he did call and wanted to visit.  As soon as he arrived he told me that God had often used him to heal the sick but since he had prayed for my husband and he died, it must mean that God was trying to get my attention.  So I asked him, are you saying it’s my fault that my husband got cancer and died?  And he replied it’s something you should think about.  I know it is difficult knowing what to say after a death but that comment was just plain cruel!

I think I would describe it with words even harsher than “cruel”.

We know why people say these things.  We sense their need to fix everything.  We get why our pain makes them uncomfortable.  We even understand the urge to assign blame in order to make sense of what has happened.  We get it, but this doesn’t make it any easier to tolerate.

Here are a few things you might consider saying when you speak with a friend who is grieving:

·       I am so sorry for your loss.

·       I wish I knew the right words to say, but I don’t.  Just know I care.

·       I don’t know how you feel, but I am here to help in any way I can.

·       You and your loved ones are in my thoughts and prayers.

·       My favorite memory of your loved one is…

·       We all need help at times like this.  I am here for you.  What can I do?

·       I am always up early (or late or free during the middle of the day – whatever is true for you).  If you need anything or just want to talk I am only a phone call away!

·       Try giving a hug without saying anything at all.

My father died when I was twenty.  No one in my social group had been through this experience and, as a consequence, no one knew what to say or do.  So my friends went in one of two directions.  There were those who didn’t know what to say and because this made them uncomfortable, they avoided me.  And then there were those who didn’t know what to say and it made them uncomfortable, but decided to stay by my side even though they could not “fix” the situation.  I have never forgotten their courage to demonstrate compassion while being completely vulnerable and helpless.  Sensing they cared about me more than their personal safety and comfort meant the world to me.  It said more than words ever could!

Looking at today’s text, it appears Martha accepts her brother’s death and draws on a deep faith.  She states her belief Jesus could have prevented the death, but even now – after four days – God will do whatever he asks.  Mary, on the other hand, is overcome with grief.  She mourns.  She weeps. Lamenting consolers surround her.  She states only that her brother would not have died if Jesus had been there.  It feels more like a complaint than a statement of faith.  Caught up in the force of Mary’s emotion, Jesus is overcome himself and weeps, even to the point of being “greatly disturbed.”  It is one of the moments when we gain insight into the fullness of his humanity.

Perhaps the story of Jesus raising Lazarus puzzles you.  It does me.  It feels like Jesus “fixes” the situation in a way we would all love to happen when we lose a loved one.  Through a single prayer and a simple command – Lazarus, come out! – he turns mourning into dancing and grief into gladness with the ease with which he converted water into wine.  But raising Lazarus from death is not the same thing as resurrection and this is not his ultimate destiny (or ours).  One day – some day – Lazarus will die again and this time he will rise in glory, as we all will.  Jesus’ act doesn’t “save” his friend from dying.  It merely delays the ultimate gift of new life one day he will receive.

One day each of us will transition from this existence to a reality we can scarcely imagine.  I like how the burial prayer refers to “the grave and gate of death.”  When I think of this gate I picture the gates in St. Paul’s front wall.  Dying is like walking down the street and turning into our church property by passing through the gates.  I see the front doors, which look so inviting as the seasonal flags flutter majestically in a gentle breeze.  To the right is the Columbarium and Cross.  On the left is a stately magnolia tree.  And all around tulips are in bloom.  In an instant life is changed, not ended.  But for those of us still walking down the street (or as the burial office puts it, “who are still in our earthly pilgrimage”), we feel acutely the pain of separation and lose as our earthly connection to one we love and need comes to an end.  It is real and it hurts. 

The wisdom of the ages reminds us the best way to go through this kind of pain is together.  When someone dies, we mourn and grieve together.  The closer we are to the person who dies the deeper it disturbs.  So we hold each other close and help as best we can.  We accept what is and do what we can while being at peace with what we cannot do to provide comfort.  And we put our faith in the one who is the Resurrection and the Life in the hope we will one day be reunited with all those we love but see no longer.

The Blaming & Complaining Conversation

 

John 9:1-41
Lent 4 / Year A

This morning we hear our third big conversation of the Lenten season.  This one involves Jesus, his disciples, a man blind from birth, the man’s parents and neighbors, and local religious authorities.  Unlike the first two conversations and the one we will hear next Sunday, Jesus is a minor actor in this encounter.  The blind man has the leading role with most of his lines coming after he receives the gift of sight. 

The conversation begins with the disciples asking Jesus a question.  On seeing the blind man they wonder, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  It is telling the disciples don’t address the man or do anything to help him.  To them, he is little more than an object lesson; the impetus for asking a theological and theoretical question.  For Jesus, the blind man is a human being.  And his blindness is not the result of sin, but like everything broken and bruised in this world it is an opportunity for God’s gracious and merciful healing power to make a person whole.

The disciples do what we do even in our own day.  That is, when something goes wrong we want to know who is at fault; who is to blame.  Blame has been much discussed this week as some people seek to determine who is at fault for the COVID 19 pandemic.  A popular target is “the Chinese” – whatever that means.  Now, finding the source of an outbreak – either initially or locally – is important work because it can help to contain the spread, but finding the source is not the same as assigning blame.

Why do we blame?  When something goes wrong we have a deep need to understand what happened and why it happened.  Rarely is it satisfying or comforting to say, “There is no one to blame because ‘it just happened.’”  If bad things can “just happen”, it follows they can’t be fixed and therefore can occur again… and again… and again.  Simply put, we do not want to live in a world where we have so little control.  When something goes wrong it is much more comforting to find someone – anyone – to blame. 

Every time a company introduces an Edsel or New Coke, the blame game kicks in.  It was marketing’s fault, or R&D, or manufacturing.  Eventually someone will take the blame, heads will roll, jobs will be lost, and everyone left will feel better about themselves.  In business they call this “the blame culture.”  If it is your fault then it isn’t my fault.  You are a bad person and I am a good person. 

Most of us don’t accept blame passively.  We fight by deflecting the blame either back on our accuser or onto a third party.  In fact, the more narcissistic a person is, the less he or she is able to accept a share of responsibility in what has gone wrong.  For such an individual, the emotional pain of being wrong is simply too great to bear.  As a result, a narcissist always has to be right and this means those who disagree with him or her always have to be wrong.  Have you ever known a person with a desperate need to build up him/her self by tearing down others?

For the disciples, getting word from Jesus about who is to blame ultimately is rooted in a desire to believe no matter who is at fault they themselves must be good because they are not afflicted.  But, as I said, for Jesus this is not about finding fault.  It is about respecting humanity.  It is not about who did what wrong.  It is about what can I do or (better put) what can God working in and through me do for a person in need.

This is the first great drama played out in today’s big conversation.  The second has to do with who deserves compassion.  Oh sure, the religious leaders feign offense Jesus heals the man on the Sabbath, making him in their minds a sinner, but their response most certainly is rooted in jealousy and envy.  Like a child who watches a sibling get something he does not – “Hey, no fair!  How come Billy gets extra ice cream and I don’t?” – the religious leaders are upset Jesus does something compassionate for the man while doing nothing for them.  Perhaps even more to the point, Jesus does something compassionate for the man they are not able to do.  Envy and jealousy.

Have you ever noticed how acts of compassion are often met with criticism?  “Why should the church give out bags of food each week?  Those people should go out and get job and work for a living.”  “Why do senior citizens get their own shopping hours and I have to fight it out with everyone else when the shelves are bare?”  “How come those NBA players got tested for the virus while ordinary people are turned away?” 

Compassion criticism rooted in jealousy and envy sees the world only with the eyes of self-interest to the exclusion of all other perspectives.  But those other perspectives add something critical to the picture, like adding color to a black and white photograph.  Did you know many of our Food Pantry clients hold jobs.  I see them working at Food Lion and Hardies, but this work does not provide enough income for them to make it on their own.  A bag with five food items supplements what they are able to do for themselves and is well deserved.  Others are elderly or disabled and not capable of being productive wage earners.  When it comes to special shopping hours, rather than complaining about what others get that you do not, perhaps you might advocate for additional adaptions that might be beneficial, rather than petty.  And when it comes to who gets tested and who does not, isn’t the important question not how scarce resources are meted out, but why such necessary resources are scarce in the first place and what can be done about it. 

So, we add today’s conversation to our first two.  “The Intentional Conversation” and “the Accidental Conversation” have a new companion.  Lets call it “The Blaming and Complaining Conversation.”  Perhaps the single most significant effect it has is to obscure the incredibly wonderful and marvelous thing Jesus does in one person’s life.  This should not surprise us because blaming and complaining have a way of blinding us to the good things God is doing in this world.  And they have a way of blinding us to the miracles God does for us. 

I realize I am not fully aware of the anxiety these days raise for many of you.  My life, which is largely lived alone, has not changed much.  The more I interact with many of you the more I realize I am the exception, not the rule.  Still, during these days of trial and fear, God is doing incredible things.  It is easy to be blind to what these things may be.  I love the tenacity of the man who sees for the first time in his life (and just imagine what an overwhelming sensory experience it must be for him!).  In hurricane of blame and complaining he remains focused on the blessing he experiences: “Here is an astonishing thing… Jesus opened my eyes!”  In the midst of all that is troubling and fearful, may your eyes be open to all the ways God is present and active in your life.  This is not the time to allow blaming and complaining to swallow up all that is good and godly.

The Accidental Conversation

John 4:5-42
Lent 3 / Year A

This morning’s Gospel reading chronicles the second of four “big” Scriptural conversations we will be hearing in Lent.  Last week Nicodemus intentionally sought out Jesus with spiritual concerns and questions.  This morning we read the story of a Samaritan woman Jesus encounters at a well outside her village.  Completely accidental, it is the opposite of an intentional meeting.  And, like a lot of unintentional conversations we get drawn into, it takes some wild twists and turns. 

That the woman comes to draw water at noon is telling.  She engages in an activity most do early in the morning while it is still cool.  In addition to a daily chore, it is a social time when those gathered share the latest news and catch up on the latest gossip.  That she elects to avoid a public gathering and opts instead to be at the well when she imagines no one else will be there suggests she is not comfortable, and most likely not welcome, to be in the company of her neighbors.  They know her scandalous life and it is better for her just to avoid interacting with them.  She practices social distancing well before any of us ever heard the term.

The conversation gets off to a rocky start when Jesus asks her to give him a drink of water.  Well, “asks” is a bit misleading.  Given his statement is cast in the imperative, it is more of a demand than a request: “Give me a drink of water!”  When she bristles, wondering why a Hebrew like him would lower himself to speak to a Samaritan, the conversation is off and running.

It touches on such topics as spirituality (“living water”), cultural bigotry, moral failings (“you have had five husbands”), religious differences (where is the correct place to worship?), eschatology (“I know the Messiah is coming”), and theology (“God is spirit”). 

A straight reading of the text suggests what impresses the woman most is how Jesus is able to tell her everything she has ever done.  This, in fact, is the message she shares with the people of her town.  It makes it seem as if Jesus is a clairvoyant who can gaze into her eyes and divine her secret sins and past failings.  But I wonder.  Surely she is used to people criticizing her lifestyle and choices and Jesus doesn’t have to be a mind reader to figure out why she is getting water alone at this time of day.  In truth, that Jesus “knows” who she is is not really not surprising or impressive. 

I suggest what is different is this: unlike the people of the community who know everything she has done and condemn her for it at every turn, Jesus knows who she is and yet still loves her unconditionally.  It is not how the text says it, but what I think it really means is this: “He told me everything I have ever done and yet he still loves me.”  Knowing her and yet still loving her is what sets Jesus apart from everyone else who knows the woman.  It is so significant, so explosive, so unexpected, that the woman tells everyone she knows about it.  She becomes an evangelist in her community because for the first time she has felt loved; loved as only God can love – deeply, completely, unconditionally.

A few years ago, when one of my lovely nieces was married, she asked her pastor, Duane, perform the service.  On the staff of a large, conservative, mega-church, he did a nice job, but, leery of getting drawn into a argumentative conversation, I wanted to keep my distance.  Later in the evening I was outside and smoking a cigar – trapped.  Duane approached me and asked about the Episcopal Church’s position on same-gender marriage.  Here we go, I thought so I tried to measure my words to defuse the situation.  Then Duane began to tell me about his ministry, which includes reaching out to drug addicts, ex-cons, prostitutes, and just about everyone all of us good Christians identify as sinners.  To my surprise I discovered one of my Christian mentors as a youth is also one of his.  I have since come to learn the Episcopal Church I first joined partners with his ministry aimed at helping those down and out to make a new start.  When I think about Duane, I realize what makes his ministry special is not that he can name sinners and knows who they are.  What makes his ministry effective is he loves them.

Accidental conversations.  Sometimes we get drawn into these against our will, they go south fast, and become a nightmare quickly.  You know the kind.  The person attacks you for your political leanings, for your religious beliefs or affiliation, for being a Hookie or a Woo, or for being a Yankee.  These are the conversations where differences are all that matters and is discussed and certainly love is not present.  And then there are those accidental conversations that are enriching.  You learn things about another you never would have known, see the world from an entirely new perspective, have your own value and worth affirmed, and find you are not alone in this world because you have engaged a kindred soul.

Let me suggest the difference between the two experiences is the presence or the absence of love.  When we seek Christ in all persons we cannot help but to meet them with love and charity – the other person is, after all, bearing our beloved Savior.  When we set out to respect the dignity of every human being we strive to love our neighbor as ourselves.  Our interactions, whether intentional or accidental, are infused with God’s love. 

Let me say in closing, we are now living in an “accidental” time as we find ourselves in a national emergency and worldwide pandemic.  Now, more than ever, our accidental encounters with others need to be directed by Christian charity and good will.  Every person whose path we cross provides us with an opportunity to express God’s boundless love made known to us in Jesus Christ.  Now is a time for us to be evangelists and ambassadors of the one who gives us living water.  May God’s love at work in and through you catch by surprise every person you encounter.  And may you find holy and kindred souls in the accidental encounters of these coming days.